


whenever you're ready

by Space_Samurai



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Meeting the Parents, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:47:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25533103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Space_Samurai/pseuds/Space_Samurai
Summary: “Don’t worry,” she said once more. Viktor wasn’t sure if she was trying to reassure him or herself. “I’m sure they are going to love you as much as I do.”His heart jumped in his chest at her words, but the nervousness did not go away. How could it, when he was about to meet the parents of the woman he hoped to marry.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum
Comments: 16
Kudos: 131





	whenever you're ready

Viktor would like to go back on time and give himself a pat on the back for making such a good decision. Who would’ve thought he’d get this far with the pretty girl with the bushy hair he had spent days watching study in the library during the Triwizard Tournament? He certainly hadn’t seen it coming.

In fact, he had feared she might not even accept him as her date for the Yule ball. Countless scenarios had played in his head before he dared to ask, ranging from her politely declining, saying she was already going with someone else, to her brushing him off as a foreign creep.

But the fates had been kind and here he was, standing nervously in front of a muggle house with a bouquet of flowers in one hand, a bottle of firewhiskey neatly wrapped in the other and Hermione by his side, almost shaking in her own excitement.

“Don’t worry,” she said once more. Viktor wasn’t sure if she was trying to reassure him or herself. “I’m sure they are going to love you as much as I do.”

His heart jumped on his chest at her words, but the nervousness did not go away. How could it, when he was about to meet the parents of the woman he hoped to marry. He was yet to propose, but they had skirted around the subject of marriage when they first moved together.

He had written to his grandmother three months ago to let her know of his desire to wed Hermione and she had owled him her ring and best wishes. He hadn’t bothered to let his parents know, as he wasn’t on speaking terms with either of them.

After their first and only discussion regarding Hermione’s blood status, Viktor had left their property stating that they could write him off their will and name a house-elf their heir. Hermione had tried to cheer him by pointing out to the fact that he was their _only_ son, so they’d have to come around the fact that he was with a muggleborn sooner or later. Viktor didn’t have much hope, but he didn’t tell her so. The only thing he was certain of was that he wouldn’t be the one approaching them for reconciliation, nor he would accept any half-hearted attempt on their behalf. They could embrace their future daughter-in-law (assuming she accepted his proposal) or he’d change his last name to Granger and let the Krum name die with him.

“Are you alright?” She asked concernedly. “You are frowning.”

Viktor tried to ease his expression. “I’m fine.” He puffed his chest, as if he was about to be photographed for the newspaper. “Let’s do this.”

A small smile appeared in her lips. “You sound like a soldier. Remember, _relax_. Be yourself.” Following her own advice, she took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. A moment later, a woman who could only be Hermione’s mother received them.

The two of them embraced each other warmly and Hermione then turned to look at him. “Mum, this is Viktor.”

 _Don’t look surly or moody_ , he urged himself. He would’ve tried a smile, but teammates had once told him he looked terrifying while smiling. He settled for a neutral look, the best he could manage.

He shifted the bottle of firewhiskey under his arm and extended his hand to Hermione’s mother. “It’s an honor to meet you.” He cringed inwardly. Maybe that was too much.

She didn’t seem to mind, however, and she shook his hand firmly. “The honor is mine,” she insisted. “I’m Helen Granger and I’m glad to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you! I still recall how many times she’d rewrite a letter before sending it to you.”

“Mum!” A lovely pink spread in her cheeks. “Let’s get inside.”

“Your dad is in the kitchen. Are those for me?” She asked, looking at the flowers in Viktor’s hand. He had forgotten about them.

“Da.” He handed them over. Mrs. Granger closed the door behind them and Viktor took off his coat and left it by Hermione’s one. The house was small when compared to the one Viktor had grown up in, though this one felt warm. There were plenty of portraits hanging from the walls, none of them moving. Most were pictures of Hermione as a young girl, smiling at the camera with missing or too-big teeth. There were very few recent ones, from after Hermione had gone to look for them to Australia and returned their memories. 

He remembered writing her often then, right at the end of the war. He had been part of the unofficial resistance at the moment it ended, making an effort along other Bulgarian wizards to prevent the Dark Lord's propaganda from spreading over their country. 

The kitchen area could be seen from the dining room and Viktor could almost picture his mother’s familiar scowl at the sight of it. Most old manors had the kitchen beneath the dining room, where the house-elves could work out of sight. He found the place similarly arranged to the apartment he shared with Hermione, though theirs was heavily warded and had more than a few charms constantly at work.

Standing in front of a stove -similar to the one Hermione _insisted_ they buy- was a man shorter than Viktor, with a thick mustache and greying bushy hair. His eyes run through Viktor as if he were a Quidditch recruiter evaluating a new player. He kept himself still and straight, refusing to hunch and become round-shouldered as he had been in his teenage years. 

"So you are Viktor Krum." It made sense the man knew him by name, if Hermione talked about him as much as her mother claimed. "Harold Granger."

First impressions matter, he reminded himself and shook his hand firmly. Perhaps a bit too much, if the way the man's arm moved was anything to judge by. 

"It's an honor to meet you, sir." This time he was prepared and he extended the wrapped gift at the man. "Ve brought firewhiskey, tis a gift." His accent slipped a bit.

The man took the bottle gingerly and unwrapped it.

"Will I spit fire if I drink it?" He asked. Viktor wasn't sure if it was a joke and he should laugh, or if the man was asking a serious question. 

"... Vi don't think so." 

"Oh well, I suppose I'll find out eventually." He palmed his back and gestured at the table. "Please sit, there's still a minute before this is ready." The man greeted his daughter with a kiss before they all sat down. Hermione had been telling her mother about her promotion.

“You wouldn’t believe the amount of cases of ‘Underage Magic’ I have to review every day. I’ve been talking to the head of the department about lowering the age of legal use at least for a couple of harmless spells and hexes.”

The muggles nodded slowly, as if they couldn’t quite understand everything their daughter was saying. Viktor was just happy to let her lead the conversation.

“Where do you work, again?” Her mother inquired.

“Department of Magical Law Enforcement.” Hermione answered. “Harry works there as an Auror and Ron _used_ to work there as Auror.”

“What happened to Ron?”

“He decided to help his older brother with his joke-shop.”

Mrs. Granger frowned. “I thought there were two brothers running that shop.”

Hermione’s face fell a little. “There were, but Fred di-died during the Battle of Hogwarts. So George ran it alone until Ron joined him.”

A short, awkward silence followed. Hermione had told him that her parents latest memories were rather foggy and while she had filled them in what had happened during the war, she had spared them from the gruesome details at the time.

“So, Viktor,” Hermione’s father turned to look at him. “What do you do for work?”

He cleared his throat. “I play Quidditch for the Bulgarian national team. I’m the seeker.”

He nodded. “Hermione told me that it was the soccer of your world, right? That’s all I know about it and that it’s played on broomsticks. She never had much interest on it.”

Viktor was tempted to tell the man that that was what he had liked about her in the beginning.

“Actually, the first time I saw Viktor was during the World Cup of 1994. Bulgaria vs Ireland.”

“You would’ve been fourteen then,” her father pointed out, eyes moving to Viktor once more, who refused to squirm under his gaze. “And he was old enough to be in the national team?”

“Ah, yes. Viktor is one of the youngest seekers in history, just turned eighteen at the time, right?” Viktor nodded in response. “After that, we met again during the Triwizard Tournament. The one Harry won, remember?”

“I remember the dress we went to buy together. You looked lovely in periwinkle.” Her mother sighed and Viktor silently agreed. He remember how breathtaking she had looked at the Yule ball and he had felt like the luckiest man of the night. He also had a vague memory of being pulled out of a carriage where he had been making out with her. It had made it to the newspaper the next morning and he had received a howler from his grandmother at the ungentlemanly behavior.

“I wore it at the Yule ball,” if the redness of her cheeks meant anything, Hermione was likely remembering the incident as well. Viktor suppressed a smile. “Everyone was so shocked and I had used like a dozen straightening charms to tame my hair.” She recalled with a smile.

Her mother was smiling too. “You went with Ron, right?”

At that, both wizards frowned. “Actually, I went with Viktor.”

“I went to ze library every day, but I could never work up the courage to ask her.” He said. “I vas very shy then, not very good at anything but Quidditch.”

“I thought you were so inconsiderate. He had a lousy fan-club following him everywhere he went and all I wanted was silence to study in peace,” she shook her head, eyes fond with the memory. “I thought you were joking for a second when you first asked.”

“I thought I had translated something wrong and you couldn’t understand me.”

“I just couldn’t believe Viktor Krum asked me out, you were the daydream of every fifteen year old Quidditch fan.”

“Fifteen?” Her father asked.

“The ball was in late December,” Hermione pointed out. “I had turned fifteen months before.” The older man seemed satisfied with her answer. Viktor breathed.

“Must have been fun.”

“It was, I felt like Cinderella arriving to the ball.”

Viktor wanted to ask who Cinderella was, but dinner was ready and people left the table to serve it. He secretly thought it would’ve been easier to use magic, but Hermione had warned him that her parents weren’t fond of her using magic for simple mundane tasks. He found it impractical, but he wanted to be liked by them, so his wand remained inside his sleeve.

Once everyone had a plate full of food, Hermione’s parents spoke of how things were going for them now that they had settled once more into their old lives. Their colleagues had received them with open arms, still baffled at the fact that they had been gone for so long and without warning.

Hermione hadn’t gone to get them until the last of the Death Eaters had been identified and apprehended. So the Grangers had spent over two years away from their lives in Britain and only recently they had managed to go back to normality. As normal as someone could wish in their circumstances.

Hermione had told Viktor that she feared her parents resented her for her actions, though silently. Things had been a bit tense and cold on their end for a while, hurt and betrayed at their daughter’s actions even if they had been for their own safety.

Fortunately, there was no talk of forgotten identities or Australia.

“So, do you have any plans for the future?” Harold asked and Viktor choked in his wine. Hermione palmed his back lightly as he coughed.

“Viktor would like to ‘ _win a World Cup before he dies’_.” Hermione said, eyes shining with amusement. For once, Viktor felt his own cheeks grow red. It took a lot to make him drunk, but the last time her friends had come over for drinks, the remaining Weasley twin had managed to pull out his deepest desires. In a heavily accented English, Viktor had proclaimed to the world –Hermione, Harry Potter and many Weasleys- that he’d like to win a World Cup before dying.

It made her parents chuckle, at least. “Anything after you win?”

“I’d like to retire and apply for a teaching position at Durmstrang.” Especially now that Karkaroff was gone and the recent events in Britain had brought a lot of criticism to the school’s policy of acceptance. Muggleborns were supposed to begin attending the next year.

“Like a P.E teacher?” Viktor didn’t know what P.E was.

“No, I’m interested in the DADA position.” During his time with the Bulgarian resistance, he had developed an affinity for the spells and counter-curses.

“What is DADA?” Hermione’s mother asked.

“Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

“Oh, do you have to go to university to get a teaching degree?” Viktor looked at Hermione, he didn’t quite understand her mother’s words.

“Wizards don’t have universities, Mum. You only have to prove that you’re fit for the position, and sometimes not even that.” A snort left her lips. “You should’ve seen the bloke we had as DADA teacher in my second year.”

“What was wrong with him?”

“He was a con-man.” She shrugged. “Still better than the one we had in first year, he had the Dark Lord in the back of his head. Literally.” Viktor’s eyes widened along with her parents, why was he only hearing about this now? “Actually, none of our DADA teachers lasted for more than a year. The position was cursed.”

“… but now _he_ ’s gone for good, right?”

Hermione’s expression turned serious. “Yes, absolutely.”

Once again, they fell into silence and in desperate need for a change of subject.

“Ve spoke of moving to a bigger apartment.” He commented casually. “Ve hope to get a permanent port-key from the Bulgarian government.”

“A port-key?”

“An object that transports you to another place when you touch it, typically further than you can apparate.”

“There’s a limit for apparition?”

“Da,” Viktor nodded. “If you go too far, you can get splinched.”

“Splinched?” Viktor took a breadstick and snapped it in half. Hermione’s mother flinched. “Oh. But why would you need one of those?”

“Our apartment is in muggle London. I can apparate into the ministry and Viktor’s been working with some local Quidditch teams here until the next Bulgarian championship, but it’d be ideal if he had an easy way from here to Bulgaria.” Hermione explained.

“Sounds reasonable. Is… Is there any reason for moving into a bigger apartment?” Viktor’s eyes were stuck to his soup and Hermione stammered for an answer.

“Oh, no… Not any _particular_ reason, see we have so many books and it’s getting crowded in there— not enough shelves, right Viktor?”

“Da.” Hermione gripped his knee under the table.

“Oh,” her mother managed to sound both relieved and disappointed. “Any thoughts of marriage?”

They answered at the same time.

“No—“

“Da.”

They shared a look and Viktor _might_ have bent his spoon a little.

“We _have_ talked about it, but we don’t have any concrete plans yet.” Viktor thought of the ancient ring hidden in his drawers. If only she knew about it. “I mean, I’m barely twenty-one and Viktor is only twenty-four.” Viktor didn’t mention that his own parents had married as soon as they were of legal age. Though theirs had been an arranged match and they had never been half as happy as he was.

“Ve want to have our lives organized before marrying and starting a family. It’ll happen when ve are ready, not before. ” He declared with newfound confidence, answer which seemed to satisfy her mother and make her father’s eyes shine with something like respect.

Hermione placed her hand on his thigh.

“Exactly.”

Dessert was a quiet, smoother affair.

There was no mention of the Dark Lord, babies or marriage. It was filled with anecdotes from Hermione’s childhood and brighter times at Hogwarts. Viktor occasionally chimed in with his own stories from Durmstrang, the tamest ones he could find. They even spoke of their time as pen-pals, but there was no mention of when Viktor invited her to Bulgaria over the summer or the time they crossed paths during the war at Fleur’s wedding.

“Viktor used to send me sweets and I’d had to hide them because no sugar I allowed in this house.”

“It’s terrible for your teeth!” Mrs. Granger insisted.

“So he was the one who sent all those boxes of Turkish delights?” Mr. Granger asked.

Hermione gasped. “You knew about those?”

“I found like three boxes while cleaning your room when you were in your fifth year.” She blushed.

“I spent that summer with my grandmother. She lives in Turkey.” In fact, she had been the one who insisted that he send them, assuring her she’d love them. “After that, I sent them to Hogwarts.”

“You did?” She frowned. “They never reached me— oh, the Inquisitorial Squad!”

“ _Who?_ ”

“A group of— well, it doesn’t matter anymore.” She sighed. “They used to check everyone’s packages and letters. Must have stolen mine.”

His eyebrows grew close together. “People looked through your things at Hogwarts?”

“It was in fifth year. The Ministry thought Dumbledore was forming an army to overthrow the Minister and they put this foul woman as the DADA— she created the Inquisitorial Squad and put a bunch of kids to spy on us for extra-credits.” Everyone stared at her, baffled. Hermione continued, unfazed. “Dumbledore wasn’t even talking to us that year. Me and Harry were the ones who started the army.”

“You _started_ an army?”

“Well—“ She didn’t want to bring up the Dark Lord again, so she made her answer short. “Someone had to.”

Viktor couldn’t help the snort that escaped him. Of course Hermione Granger would casually comment that she had formed an army in her fifth year of school.

“And you?” Hermione’s father turned to Viktor, something like resignation in his face. “Did you start any armies at school?”

“No. I did start a Bulgarian resistance, or at least helped to organize it.”

“Oh well… I suppose it’s always good to see young people fighting for their ideals.”

An hour later, Viktor and Hermione made her way back to the apartment. They decided to walk rather than apparate, to enjoy the cool air of the night. Both of them were decently buzzed from the wine and conversation.

“You think they like me?”

“Absolutely.” She kissed his cheek. “I once told my mum you were the David Beckham of our world, she’s been wanting to meet you ever since.”

Viktor didn’t know who David Beckham was, but surely the comparison was a positive one.

He wrapped an arm around her waist as they continued walking.

“Viktor?”

“Da?”

“You meant it, about wanting us to be settled before… before starting a family?”

“Yes.” He said without hesitation. He’d marry her on the spot if she allowed it. “Do you think the same?”

“I do. But I didn’t mean what I said about being too young.” She confessed. “I said it to get my mother off our backs. I- I’d like us to get married, in the near future. Like Harry and Ginny—”

Whatever came after that Viktor didn’t hear, he leaned down and kissed her. He usually wasn’t one to display affection in public and neither was Hermione, but she still threw her arms around his neck to pull him closer.

“I’ve got my grandmother’s ring at home.” He whispered against her lips. “I’d ve very happy if it became _your_ ring.”

**Author's Note:**

> This practically wrote itself. 
> 
> Please forgive me if I got something wrong, as English is not my native language. If you liked this piece please let me know in the comments! And check out my other work for this pairing :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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